What Raging Fire?
by TheAngleofMusic
Summary: EOW: Carolina has nothing left to live for in her life, her family is dead..her only brother betrayed her. When fate brings her to the Opera Populaire as a meager set designer, she quickly becomes an interest of a Phantom long thought dead...
1. Prologue

**What Raging Fire?**

**By:** TheAngleofMusic

**Started:** 3/12/05

**Title:** What Raging Fire?

**Author:** TheAngleofMusic

**Rating:** R for violence, sexuality/innuendo, thematic elements, and mild language.

**Summary:** When Carolina (Pronounced Car-ol-e-na), a poor, young Spanish woman with a shadowed past, comes to live at the Paris Opera House as a meager set designer, she gets more than she bargins for when an opera ghost long belived dead takes a special interest in her. And so begins a relationship with the Phantom of the Opera...though both of them are scarred physically and mentally...and the Phantom still cannot trust...Heartbreak, action violence, romance, and much more!

**Warnings: **This is an EOW, meaning that it is an Erik/Other Woman romance. If you don't like don't read. It's that simple! Also, this story will contain **sex!** The chapters that contain it will have a clear label at the top…if you wish to receive the story without this in it…if you e-mail it to me I will give you the PG-13 copy!

**Note on the Phantom:** My Phantom will always be Gerry Butler…though I have had the fortune to see the Broadway show with Hugh Panaro, not great in looks, but great in voice. So my Phantom looks and has the personality of Gerry Butler, with Hugh Panaro's singing voice, with the Kay/Leroux deformity.

**Disclaimer: **If they were mine, I wouldn't be writing this. I own NOTHING! Sob Except for any characters that you don't reckonize!

**Review Notes: **Any type of review is welcome, flames included! Though if you do decide to flame please include constructive criticism!

**How to Reach the Author: **If you wish to be part of an update list, or want to e-mail me with suggestions, comments, anything else you can reach me at: or AIM me at love2surf23508

**Some Story Notes: **This story can be considered AU. The events of Dan Juan Triumphant happened, meaning that Christine left Erik…though the chandelier falling never sent the Opera House into flames. Andre and Firmin continued on running the opera, and most of the original cast continued performing.

That's it…now on with the show…

**Prologue…1 year after the one and only performance of 'Don Juan Triumphant'**

**Paris, France**

It was an unearthly time of night in Paris; the normally bright Parisian streets were shadowed in darkness. The harvest moon had risen to its highest point in the sky, its light the only brightness in the darkness of the city below. The streets at this time of night were dangerous, being roamed by drunks and murders. The nobility were all asleep in their mansions and estates, while the commoners slept contentedly in their flats, though those of the lower class were awake. The drunks wandering from tavern to tavern while the murderers and criminals were stalking the shadows.

From up an alley came the sound of shuffling feet, as if someone was running from something. A young woman, not out of her twenties twirled around a corner, her breath ragged as she ran.

"Come back here, whore!" Came the drunken call of a man from somewhere down the street. "You haven't given me my pleasure tonight!" He called after her.

The woman cast a glance over her shoulder, the moonlight catching her ruddy face. She nearly tripped over the tattered and torn bottom of her skirts, as she tried to run away from the man who wanted her tonight.

There were more sounds coming from up the alley, the drunken man had gathered his friends to look for her. She knew that he had paid good money to use her tonight, and he would not let her get away so easily.

She turned another corner, her bare feet making slapping sounds on the cobblestone street below her. Her breath now came in short gasps, as she tried to search for a place to hide. The lights of the shop windows were darkened, the kiosks and cart shops had been safely hidden from the night prowlers. She stopped, listening for some kind of sound. There was none.

The woman let out a sigh of relief, as she stood in the middle of the otherwise deserted street…they had given up on her. She turned around, deciding that she would go seek some sort of shelter for the night. She whipped her dirty and sweaty hands on the edge of her skirt, thankful that she would not have to spend the night in the bed of that man again.

For the past ten years of her life, this young woman, whose name was Carolina Dane had been living the poor life of parents. She had been born into a middle class family, her father had been a successful merchant, which allowed her family to live contentedly.

She had had one older brother, Gaston, and would have had a younger sister, Laurie, had her mother not had that horrible disease.

The disease had come like a wave in Paris; killing off many when Carolina was only three…she had been lucky enough to survive the disease, though it had claimed her mother who had been seven months pregnant with her sister. The disease had killed them both…and the rest of the family.

Her father, just six months later, contracted a similar disease; it had slowly killed him off, leaving just Carolina and her older brother, Gaston. Her mother had not left her any money in her will and her father passed everything into Gaston's hands. Though her brother had been young, seventeen, and foolish with his inheritance. He had lost most of it in just a year from visiting local bars and gambling like a madman.

Then the landlord evicted them from their small flat and Gaston had fled Paris, going to some other city or town, perhaps to start a new life. Though he had fled leaving Carolina with nothing but memories.

For the past several years of her life Carolina had tried everything to get money, she tried working for a seamstress, though she was clumsy with her hands. She tried being an apprentice for god knows how many jobs, yet had failed at all of them. There was nothing she could do, except design. She loved designing sets for books that she read.

She remembered a time when her parents had taken her to the Opera Populaire, back when she had been young. Her father, even though middle class, had strived to raise both his son and daughter into nobility. She remembered watching the ballerinas twirling on the stage, the beautiful voices of the lead roles, and she remembered how she had wanted to become one!

Though now, in her currently situation, becoming a famous singer was much too large of dream for her to catch. For the past year or so she had taken to selling herself, becoming a whore.

It was the lowest of jobs, though she could make a decent sum for each of the nights that she spent in a dirty man's presence, giving herself willingly to them. She thought it was a repulsive job, and she knew that her father would have cursed her for stooping to such lowness. She was nothing better now than the men who used her for their pleasure.

"There you are, beautiful," A drunken man slurred, stepping up into the moonlit street.

Carolina backed up; she had nowhere to go, now that all these men were closing in around her. The one who had just spoken to her, a fat man with a large, ruddy, and bearded face, stepped up to her, one fat hand reaching to caress her cheek.

Caroling raised her hand and slapped him hard across his face, her only way to show defiance.

The man recoiled back, a hand coming up to his cheek. His eyes suddenly flared up with rage, as he grasped her thing wrist now in his large hand. His grip intensified and Carolina's eyes screwed up in pain.

Then came the sickening pop as the bone snapped.

Carolina heard the pop and looked down at her wrist, in the dim moonlight the bone was visibly sticking through her skin. Her eyes rolled back in her head, as she collapsed into the man's arms.

"Ah…too bad…looks like you won't have the pleasure of spending your night with me," the man whispered dangerously in her ear while lifting Carolina's limp form off of the ground.

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	2. The Opera Populaire

**A/N: Wow! Tons of reviews in my mailbox this morning…I'm stunned! Thank you all so much for reviewing you have really made my day! **

**So this chapter is dedicated to you!**

**From now on the story will be told from Carolina's point of view! **

**Also, this is my first attempt at ever writing 'Phantom' characters and my first time ever using one of my creations, a girl, as a main character. If Carolina seems to be a Mary-Sue please tell me! If I wrote some of the characters wrong, please tell me also!**

**The Phantom will be appearing in later chapters…I will not rush him in…so you just have to be patient! **

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Chapter 1:

**_The Opera Populaire_**

All I saw was blackness, an unending void consuming me second by second. For a moment I thought I had died…I assumed that this was how death would feel. The unending floating sensation, though I had always thought that heaven was white. I guess that my soul must have been sent to hell, no, I knew that my soul had been sent to hell for all the sins I had made in my lifetime.

Though just when I thought that it was over; that I would see Lucifer himself standing over me telling me that I was damned, I suddenly woke up from my dream. I blinked my eyes in rapid succesion, the bright light stinging my eyes. I heard voices, voices all around me, talking softly. I tried to move, but a sharp pain flared up in my arm.

"I think she's coming about," a male voice near my head observed.

"Whaaa..?" I attempted to say, my voice coming out hoarse and coarse.

Eventually my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room and I looked around. Two men were standing by my head, each one well dressed, one sporting a finely tailored blue suit while the other was wearing a black suit. They both were looking very concerned down at me. There was a rather stern looking woman down at the end of the bed and next to her was a young girl with long, flowing, blonde hair.

"Miss?" One of the men standing beside me spoke. "Are you ailing anywhere?" He asked.

I tried to tell him no, yet trying to form the word on my mouth caused my body to ache with pain. So I shook my head once, my teeth gritted in pain from doing such a simple gesture.

"You had quite a nasty spill," The other man said, this one with rather eccentric looking grey hair. "It was lucky that one of our stagehands found you," he said, his hand motioning towards the door where a large bearded man stood.

I recoiled upon setting my eyes on this man, I immediately knew who he was…he was the man who was to take me that night! Then suddenly I remembered, running from the tavern, through the empty streets of Paris in the dead of night. I remembered being cornered by…the man…that man standing by the door! I remembered the sickening crunch of my wrist snapping…then nothing.

"I remember," I admitted plainly, my voice still hoarse. My eyes looked down the bed at my wrist, which was wrapped in a hard cast.

"Yes indeed," The man said, standing up. "Well, Andre, it appears that she had been roused and there is no more need of our attention!" He exclaimed to his companion. The two men then began making their way towards the door.

"Monsieur?" I called after them. "Where am I?" I asked.

"You are at the Opera Populaire," The man called Andre said as he turned sharply back to me, before walking out of the room.

Now I was only left with the rather stern looking woman and the girl. The woman stood up and walked down towards my end of the bed, before softly sitting down beside me. The girl followed suit, and now I could see that she was dressed in a tutu and other ballet clothes. She must be a dancer!

"That was quite a nasty break you had there, Miss Dane," The woman said, nodding towards my wrist. "Though the doctor says that it will heal, you just have to be easy on it for a while, mademoiselle." The woman said, a smile softening her hard features.

"How did I get here?" The question had been lingering on the back of my tongue since I had woken up.

"You do not remember?" The woman questioned one dark eyebrow lifting skeptically. "But of course, you were probably not in your mind at the time. One of our stagehands here at the Opera, Charles Christof, found you lying in the gutter. You were deathly pale and your wrist bone was poking out of your skin. The lad brought you here, where we have attended to you," She explained.

My eyes opened in shock and I fought back the urge to tell this woman that the story she had heard was false. That the stagehand, Charles, had not brought me back because of the goodness of his heart. Though I couldn't tell these kind people what kind of life I was used to living. Not now, at least. Who knows what they would do to me?

Probably toss me back out onto the streets and leave me to die.

"Thank you, Madame," I choked out, looking at the woman. "May I ask your name…?"

"Madame Giry," The woman said with another smile. "Dance instructor here at the Opera Populaire. This," she said, gesturing towards the petite girl who had stood silently, "Is my daughter, Meg Giry, studying to become a prima ballerina."

Though before I could ask any other questions or even think about any other questions Madame Giry stood up, leaning heavily on a cane that had gone unnoticed until now. "You shall stay here until you are well enough to continue on…and perhaps you could even become an aid to us here at the Opera," she said. "Come, Meg," she said to the girl and walked out of the door, which she closed shut behind them.

Being left alone, I sunk back into the bed, welcoming the warm white sheets about me. I looked around the room, unfurnished, except for a rather large mirror against the adjacent wall. It was tall, enough so that one could see the whole length of their body in it. There were intricate carvings of roses embroidered into the gold frame…it was simply stunning.

Though it seemed to mock me with my pitiful reflection. My hollow face, the sunken eyes, the dark circles lining my eyes, my small and thin body. With a nose much too large for such a small face. There was nothing appealing about myself at all, my ratty hair, thin and stringy, hanging limply near my shoulders. Or perhaps my arms and legs, thin, bone wide, without an ounce of fat, hanging like tree limbs on too short of a tree.

I narrowed my eyes at the mirror; daring it to change my reflection or perhaps make my reflection disappear. Though I knew that those two thoughts were absurd, as a mirror only was one sided!

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	3. The Note

**A/N Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! They are much appreciated…**

**Erik coming soon!**

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**Chapter 2**

**The Note**

I estimated that I had been at the Opera Populaire for the time span of one week. I felt horrible, these generous people watched me around the clock for the first several days, and I could offer nothing in return! They brought me fresh clothes, as the ones I had been wearing that night were old, tattered, and dirty. They brought me fine food; its sweet touch would linger on my mouth for hours after the meal.

When I felt strong enough to get back on my feet, I began aiding Madame Giry and the Opera Managers. I would perform small errands for them, rather it be running a script to certain singers and dancers or informing some people that they were needed on stage. The way that these people smiled at me whenever I did something that was of great help for them made me feel useful – for the first time in my life I was useful.

It was about mid afternoon on the seventh day that I had been in the Opera House and I stood in front of my mirror buttoning my new blouse. Tonight Madame Giry had invited me and several other workers at the Opera House to a small café in Paris. I carefully ran a comb through my stringy hair, which still, despite the fact that I had washed it – oh I had actually been able to wash my hair! – Many a time, it still looked matted and dirty.

I looked into the mirror, my eyes working their way down my body, resting on my arm. Still in its heavy cast, it was a reminder of that night – it was a reminder of what I had been.

Since I had come to the Opera, I had tried to start a new life. Within these sheltered walls far from the prying eyes and the taunts of men, I felt as if I was renewed. My past life was behind me, those days, those miserable days that were still fresh wounds in my mind, would always be there. Though if I chose not to think about them, then I could pretend that I was any normal person, that I was normal.

A soft tap came at the door and I turned walked over, using my right hand, the uninjured arm, I turned the door knob. I was surprised to find Monsieur Andre standing there in my door frame. When I opened the door he walked immediately into the room, and I backed up against the wall. Men coming into my room aroused fresh memories.

"What is it you want, Monsieur?" I asked my voice wavering and uncertain.

"My dear Miss Dane," he said, smiling and taking a step towards me.

I backed up, though there was no where to go, unless I could go through the wall. I looked around uncertainly, I had grown not to trust men, and they were so unpredictable. They could be charming and sweet at one moment and demonic the next.

"My dear, you look like you've seen a ghost…I hope that the Opera Ghost hasn't paid you a visit has he?" Andre asked, chuckling. the smile still gracing his aging face.

"Opera Ghost?" I asked uncertainly, still edged up tight against the wall.

"You haven't heard the story?" Andre asked, a frown creasing his face. "Ah well, I guess that they didn't want to scare you away," he added.

I said nothing for a moment and an uncomfortable silence fell between us – what did this man want of me!

"Oh of course, my reason for visiting you…" he said after the pause. He then produced from his coattails a thick script. "I'm leaving to go visit my wife outside of Paris the weekend and I was wondering if you would give this script to Madame Giry. She has been a rather nag of late, pestering me for this, I would be indebted to you if you gave it to her," he explained setting the script on my bed.

"Thank you, Monsieur; I shall give it to her tonight!" I said, with a bit more certainty edging into my voice, though I still was up against the wall.

"Thank you, mademoiselle," he said, before turning and striding out the door, it closing quickly behind him.

I sat down on the bed, my chest heaving with relief. Having been alone with a man again opened up the wounds on my soul, those wounds that would never heal. I had sworn to myself, the day that I became a…whore…that I would never become attached to a man.

And I hadn't yet and I never would.

A few moments later, Meg came to my door and together we strode down through the winding halls and corridors down to the streets outside the Opera Populaire. A carriage, drawn with two beautiful white horses, stood waiting for us. Madame Giry and two other women from the Opera House stood by the carriage.

As we approached, Madame Giry made to help me into the carriage, but I pressed the script that the manager had given me into her arm. "This is from Andre, he insisted that you had it while he was out of the city this weekend," I said shortly, before climbing into the cab, unassisted.

The restaurant trip was wonderful; we went to a small café in a quite square in Paris. The food was wonderful, even better than what they served in the Opera House! I savored every bite I took; eating quickly, for fear that the food would disappear if I blinked.

I discovered that the two women who accompanied us were the Seamstress at the Opera and the other woman was her assistant. Between the three of them, Madame Giry, the Seamstress and assistant they gave very good stories. When it would be Madame Giry's turn to tell a story, Meg would blush deeply from her place sitting beside me and whisper in my ear to insist me that her story wasn't true.

I spent most of the evening listening; I was never one to talk out in the crowds. Though Madame Giry and the others would attempt to include me in, I would always say a short sentence and back right out of the conversations.

Once the carriage had returned us to the Opera, we all parted our separate ways, though Meg showed me once again to my room, as I was still not familiar with the winding passages of the Opera House. "Of course we wouldn't want you to get lost," Meg said, laughing as she led me along a dark corridor. "You could very well end up in the Opera Ghosts' domain," she added, emitting a short laugh.

A small frown emitted on my face, this was the second time in one night when I had heard about the Opera Ghost. I wondered why all these people talk about him...I wondered what he had done for the Opera, probably nothing really good.

"Meg, who is this Opera Ghost?" I asked her, reaching out with my good hand, clasping her shoulder.

I could see worry come over Meg's face, "No one, he is long dead now," she said shortly. "Come, Carolina, if we do not return you to your room we might get lost!" She said, and I could tell that her voice held no room for questioning.

Once Meg had shown me my room and had turned and headed back down the hall towards the dormitories where she slept I took the candle she had given to me and lit my lamp. Light immediately spread to the room and I felt relief slip into me as the light washed into all of the dark corners. I guess that I liked everything light because the shadows scared me…so many things had come out of the shadows.

I pulled off my dress and settled into a fresh white night gown. The silk fabric brushed my arm, sending shivers up my spin. This was a generous reward from the rough cotton fabric that had so long been the source of my clothes. I pulled back the covers on the bed, slipped in and was getting ready to blow out the candle, when I noticed a letter by the light.

Strange, I thought, this hadn't been there before I had left.

I reached over and picked it up, and surveyed it, there was a thick wax seal on the back. It was dark red color, the color of blood, and stamped into it was the face of a skull. What a strange way to seal a letter…

Using my right hand, I opened the letter, and out fell a piece of paper. Written on it was luxurious sprawling handwriting.

The letter read:

_Dear Mademoiselle Cara,_

_First off, I welcome you to my Opera House, and I am glad to see that you are actually trying to help out the managers and workers here – believe me, they need it. _

_Though, while you are in the spirit of retrieving things, I am in very much need of clothing, candles, and some food. You see, my reputation makes it near impossible for me to get out into the public eye. It would be the greatest gift if you could get these to me by this time tomorrow night it would be wonderful._

_Don't worry about me, I'll come to you._

_Sincerely,  
O.G_

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**Do you think that I captured Erik well? More of him to come in the next chapter!**

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	4. My God, Who is This Man?

**A/N: I'm glad that all of you seemed to like the way that I portrayed Erik through his letter. I'm fairly certain that he _won't_ be making an appearance in this chapter! But I promise you that he _will _be in the next chapter!**

**This story is being beta'd by my good friend and writer Cyber-Eyes! She's the person that corrects all of my horrible grammar errors! **

**Also please note that I am making references to the Broadway production of Phantom. I liked the play's ending better…the movie was just too boring! **

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**Chapter 3  
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**My God, Who Is This Man?**

I stood, staring in shock down at the note clasped tightly in my hand. "My God, who is this man?" I thought frantically to myself. What did he want with me? How had he gotten inside of my room – when it had been locked all along!

I reread the letter, my eyes grazing over the sprawling handwriting. There was one thing, apart from the outright demand of completing his tasks was the name he had called me:

Cara

That was the name that most of the men who had used me gave me. I shuddered at the very thought of those men, as they had leaned over me, their large, greasy bodies touching my own bare one. The look of hunger in their eyes as they ran dirty hands through my hair, they reminded my of a hungry jackal and it's prey.

Though how had this man, that I presumably didn't know, find out the name that I been called for so long? Though, a thought suddenly struck through my mind, perhaps that this letter was a threat – from that man – that man who had brought me here. He perhaps it was he who had sent this demanding letter! That had to be it, who else would know that name!

Though the letter had been signed by a certain O.G, what could those initials stands for? I sat back down on the bed, in silent exhaustion; my midnight oil was burning away. I turned over in bed, snuggling under the covers, relieved that I was not sharing the bed with anyone. I figured that this mysterious letter would have to wait until morning.

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Dawn at the Opera Populaire brought about much work, so much work, that it pushed all of the thoughts of the letter out of my mind. Madame Giry had me running to all parts of the large Opera House on various errands. From notifying some dancers who were purposely skipping practice to picking up the train of the leading soprano, Carlotta's, dress.

Though by midmorning I was exhausted, I had fell asleep very late the night before, and my midnight oil had been well burned. I leaned heavily against a set piece for an upcoming production, my eyes drifting down…and I wished that I could fall asleep right then and there.

There was an almost eerie silence around me, as most of the dancers had retired to their chambers after the morning's practice had ended. I had told Madame Giry that I wished to return to my room for a brief time, though, once again I had somehow gotten lost in the labyrinth of passages that was the Opera House.

I didn't know exactly where I was, I had thought that I had been following the right corridor back to my room, but when I had descended down countless flights of stairs, turned several sharp corners, I had found myself in this room.

It was a large room, with high ceilings. There were various set pieces all around me, some large, like the giant elephant that I was leaning against; to small pieces, such as an unlit lamp nearby. I figured that I would have to be leaving soon, go back out in the hallway and attempt to find my room again. Though right now, I was taking a quick rest.

Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps in the room. I stood up instantly, and listened, my ears straining for those sounds. Surely enough, they came again, this time closer to where I was standing! They were precise, light footsteps as if the person didn't wish to be found. I found this intoxicating – here I was – trapped in one of the opera's many cellars with someone hunting me down!

Panic engulfed my body, as I wondered who was in here with me. "Who is there?" I asked, my voice high and squeaky, laced with fear.

There came no reply, except for the silence of the room. I decided to move, small steps at first, growing into larger ones as I looked for who was in the room with me. Then I saw the slightest movement, a swirl of black upon the diminishing light of the room. I moved quickly, trying to catch up with however was in front of me. I was so close, the opposite wall was nearing, this mysterious figure would have no where to go!

I was so close…when…

"Carolina?" Meg's girlish voice rose over the room. I could see her lantern light from here.

"Meg!" I called, relieved. "I am here!" I yelled again, as the light slowly began making its way toward me.

In a moment Meg appeared her face white in the lantern light. "What are you doing down here?" She whispered, and I saw for a split second panic cross over her face.

"I got lost," I said helplessly, shrugging my shoulders.

"It is not a good thing to get lost in the cellars of the opera, Carolina, for this is the ghost's domain," Meg said, leading me up a flight of stairs into a well lit hallway.

"The ghost?" I questioned again, my eyebrows arching quizzically.

Meg shook her head once and continued walking down the hallway. "Meg," I pleaded running up and grabbing her by her shoulders, forcing her to turn towards me. "Tell me about this ghost."

The petite ballet girl nodded once, weakly, in understanding and led me through a door into my own room. I sat down on the bed, and Meg followed suit, sitting beside me. "The ghost…?" I began for her.

Meg swallowed before saying, softly at first, "I suppose that you have heard about the strange affair between Christine Daae, the Viscountess, and the Phantom of the Opera?" Meg asked me as I shook my head yes. The strange events that had gone on in the Opera House had ravaged all of Paris, even lowlifes, such as myself, had heard of what had happened.

"It began long before; the Phantom had been giving Christine singing lessons ever since she had first been brought to the Opera as a little girl. Christine thought that he was her Angel of Music, a legend that her father had promised her on his deathbed. Though as she grew older the Phantom's passion for her intensified greatly: he began blackmailing Andre and Firmin, who were the new managers at that time. He was so desperate for her – he killed for her – he sent the chandelier falling down at a performance of Il Muto.'

'Though it did not end there, the chandelier event was only the beginning. Though after it fell, he disappeared for the longest time, six months, to be exact. In that time period we received no notes, we heard nothing of him. Then on the night of the Bal Masque he returned, clothed as Red Death. He frightened the managers with a sword, threatened all who were there before disappearing again.'

'He had given the managers an opera that they were to perform. It was called Don Juan Triumphant, a rather bizarre piece, but the managers were so intimidated by his presence that they complied. It was then that Raoul, the Vicomte de Changy, came up with a plan. They were going to ensnare the Phantom in his own trap.'

'The night of Don Juan the managers and Raoul brought in several Bobbies, they stationed them all around the opera house, ensuing that the Phantom would not escape. Though they were all blind to the Phantom's plan, for the Phantom killed Piangi, the leading baritone for many seasons, and came on stage, disguised. No one knew, no one even gave the slightest thought that he would do this.'

'Though his plan was ruined when Christine ripped off his mask, in front of the full opera house. He then took Christine down to his cellar, Raoul, Christine's lover, went after her. I followed in pursuit, bringing the mob of stage hands and angry opera goers with me. '

'By the time we finally reached the cellars, Christine and Raoul had gone; apparently the Phantom had let them go. He lifted up the gate so that we could come in, so for what we thought would be the capture. Though as he sat in his chair, he pulled a curtain overtop of him. By the time we had gotten there, he was gone – all that remained what the white mask that he wore. We have heard nothing of him since," Meg explained to me, her voice low and sullen.

"What happened to him?" I questioned eager to find out.

"Dead, I suppose, we have had no notes demanding anything, no threats, no strange events for the past year," Meg replied, before standing up. "And for that I am glad," she admitted, "That this Angel of Music, the Phantom of the Opera, O.G, whatever his name may be, is gone."

Then with those final words she bade me good afternoon, saying that she had practice with the corps de ballet in several minutes and she did not want to be late.

As I sat in the now empty room, my eyes traveled over to the letter, still lying unfolded on my nightstand. Then a sudden thought struck me…

The letter had been signed by anO.G!

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**Erik in the next chapter! **


	5. A Ghost?

**A/N: Let's see there's some Erik in this chapter! Does happy dance Well…we'll actually get to see him really in the next chapter! Sorry! **

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**Chapter 4:**

**A Ghost?**

It was later on of that same afternoon, and I was dashing through the immense costume racks in the Opera House, desperate to find clothes. I had figured that it was best that I complied with this O.G's demands, if only to ease my curiosity on the whole matter. I felt curiosity mixed with fear mingling in my stomach as I remembered the words of the letter – he was to come fetch his things in my room! But how…?

I panned eagerly through a line of finely tailored suits, mostly used for more formal productions. I had no idea what his size was, he hadn't bothered telling me that in his letter, but I had already formed a picture of what a Phantom would look like in my head. I had been lucky enough to interrogate some of the ballet members about the ghost's physical appearance and they had eagerly told me their stories about him.

I hadn't been too surprised with what I heard – though they were the best references I had. They had told me that he was hideous, with a horribly scarred face like death's head. He had little or no hair on his head, and had glowing gold eyes. He also had the body of a skeleton – or, as some of them described it – the body of a dead corpse.

So in my head I had formed an image of this Opera Ghost, O.G, and that is the reason why I picked out a smaller sized suit than some of the others that were on the rack. It was a beautiful overcoat, with a blood red colored waist band, with the same color red lining on the jacket. The suit was as black as night as were the pants that I had picked out for him also.

Though there also could be the fact that this O.G wasn't the Phantom.

I knew that there was one man in this theatre who knew who I really was, I had seen him that morning in the doorway, though I hadn't seen him since. I tried to keep my distance away from the stage hands, for they were foul, rotten men who spent most of their days drinking away on sour or stolen liquor. They reminded me so much of the jackals that had taken me to their own bed night after night.

Even in the warm, staleness of the room, I shivered. Every time the memory of what I had been aroused in my mind, the horrifying, vivid pictures of those men and what they had done to me played out in front of my eyes.

Though as quickly as the putrid thought entered my mind, I pushed it back into the dark corners from which it had come from. I would not remember that life, for I was not the same girl that had come here a few weeks before! I was changed, a new person, my life was new here inside the opera house, for I was sheltered from the outside world. Its cruelties could not touch me inside of these stone walls.

I pushed all of those thoughts out of my head and returned to the present situation that I was in. Meg had assured me that the ghost was dead or long gone and I believed her – though there was so much mystery surrounding this whole story, this whole Opera House, that who knows who you could trust?

It came down to the story of Meg Giry or the young girls of the Corps de Ballet.

I really hoped that Meg's story was right.

With the clothes in hand I carefully treaded my way back to my room, not wanting to get lost like I had earlier in the day. I carefully unlocked the door and placed the clothes on the chair near the mirror, along with a wrapped loaf of bread and some other food that I had not eaten, and several long candles that I had nicked from a supply closet in the Opera.

I glanced at my pocket watch that I kept on the table, it was about seven in the evening, the letter had instructed that he would come in the evening, so I sat and waited, my hand drumming absent-mindedly on the arm of the large overstuffed chair that I was sitting in.

And waited as the clock ticked on.

And waited.

The candles began burning low, their flames beginning to dwindle into darkness and there was no sign yet of the mysterious letter writer.

Eventually a clock somewhere in the building chimed midnight and I sat in my chair exhausted. My eyes felt heavy with sleep and were threatening to close. My head lulled back against the back of the chair…and slowly my eyes closed and I drifted off into the blissful world of sleep.

* * *

When I awoke in the morning, I jolted out of the chair, my clothes tangled and wrinkled and my hair a mess. I immediately threw a glance down at the chair beside me; it was empty of all of its contents!

My mind reeled.

My door had been locked all night! How had someone gotten into my room – without me knowing or without any noise whatsoever? How had he not disturbed my sleep, to take the items would mean that they were only mere inches away from my face. How could they do this without waking me, who generally slept very light, was what truly made the mystery.

Though in place of the clothes, food, and candles was a letter, sealed with the strange skull. It read:

_Dear Cara,_

_Thank you so very much for the clothing, the food, and the candles, getting them for me was much appreciated. _

_I have decided now that I can trust you to fulfill any of my needs, so I have included a small list of items that I am in dire need of, more so than the things that you delivered to me last night._

_Please have them here in the room by midnight tonight; I shall be waiting for you,_

_Your servant,_

_O.G_

It was then that I noticed that beneath the letter was a blood red rose that had unfurled to its full splendor. It had been dethorned and around its stem was a single black ribbon tied in a bow.

Inside of the ribbon was tucked a small wrote, written in the same sprawling handwriting that the letter had been written in. It read:

_Do not be discouraged by your physical appearance, it is what is inside of you that matters._

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**Erik in the next chapter!**


	6. Or a Man?

**A/N: Wow! Several reviews! Thank you so much, and as I promised there is Erik in this chapter! So you can all be happy now!**

**Thanks to Cyber-Eyes (who's changed her name to something I can't remember) for offering to beta this story…if I ever get the time I will send it to you! **

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**Chapter 5**

**Or a Man?**

I pushed my way through the crowded streets of Paris, my hands laden down with several overstuffed bags and one very crumpled piece of paper. My hood of my cloak was pulled up over my head, protecting me from the cold northern wind that plagued Paris at this time of the year.

I stumbled on a cobblestone, nearly loosing my parcels that contained a various assortment of things that O.G had instructed me to retrieve. I immediately regained my balanced and began moving on quicker, as the sun was beginning to set behind the buildings and shadows were beginning to form under the roof tops, creeping their dark fingers across the streets. I had not been out on the streets of Paris since that night…no, I could not think about that now! Not now!

As I walked up the street, my arms aching from carrying three parcels of lined music paper, several bottles of ink, and a number of other musically inclined instruments, I wondered why anyone would need these items. I knew most of the song writers at the Opera Populaire and it always appeared that they had a great stack of ink and staffed paper near them.

I approached the square that held the Opera Populaire and walked up the stairs quickly and into the grand foyer which was filled with the cleaning maids and several guards standing near the doors. Though besides them, it was empty, the managers were away in their office or perhaps wandering around backstage, checking on the various going-ons. I scaled the grand staircase quickly, my feet echoing on the marble flooring of the stairs.

I walked down another hallway that bypassed me by the stage; where some late reversals for a new production were happening and down several winding corridors before reaching the wooden doorway that led to my room.

I fumbled around with the parcels, trying to get the key into the lock. Eventually I did and the door swung open, I bustled inside, dropping all my parcels on the bed in a giant heap when I heard a voice from behind me say:

"Is that any way to be treating my goods?"

I froze. I didn't want to turn around, who knew who was behind me? My back went ridged and my mouth formed the words, "Midnight…"

"Yes, I know, it was midnight…but I couldn't leave you with these large boxes troubling you all afternoon," he said again as I stood mesmerized by the sound of his voice. It was a deep, rich and seductive sound that encircled my entire body.

I heard him stand from where he must have been sitting in one of my chairs, his feet treaded across the wooden floor, with slow, deliberate steps. I couldn't move, it seemed, and I felt frozen. His voice scared me, making me want to flee my room, yet it also made me want to stay, to hear its rich sound again in my ears.

He was closer now; I could hear his even breathing in the back of my ears. He moved forward, and for once I didn't skirt away from a man's presence. I could feel his elegance radiating from his body – his dark power consuming me. I felt as if I was drowning in his very presence.

Slowly, I felt the warmness of his hand on my hips, as he slid his arm down my leg. I didn't pull away, I just staid still, the sounds of our breathing the only sounds breaking the intense silence. I felt his warm breath against the back of my neck, the warmness sent shivers down my spine.

I leaned into his seductive grasp, as he sighed in satisfaction and pulled me closer, against what I deemed to be a strong chest. A hand ran through my hair and try as I might, I could not turn around to face him. I sighed happily in the intoxication of having such a powerful figure standing behind me.

Though as quickly as he had come he was gone in a swirl of darkness and all of the parcels on the bed disappeared and I was left alone again.

Almost at once my body began to shake with fear; I had allowed this man to touch me like no man had done before! He now knew that I was vulnerable to him and he could now seek to control me! I shuddered at the thought, though at the same time I remembered the ecstasy of having such a strong figuring running his hand along my leg.

I remembered the warm gentleness of his hands, the warmth that radiated through my body when he touched my back. The softness of his hand in my tangled, hair sent warm shivers through my body. The velvet, rich sound of his deep voice still echoed throughout the caverns of my mind.

It was then that I realized that I had to find out who this mysterious man was, this man who could disappear from a room in a blink of an eye, this man who created such a feeling of intoxication that you could drown in it!

* * *

It was late the next afternoon and I was bustling down a long hallway, a heavy script in one hand and my pair of reading glasses in the other. The day had been a long hard one, most of the ballet dancers and stage hands had been in a rotten mood, which had therefore changed my mood from good to bad. My hair was crinkled and tangled, my dress wrinkled and my face sweaty from walking at a steaming pace all day.

I turned around another corner, relieved at finding Sorelli's dressing quarters finally. I knocked on the door lightly, and instead of Sorelli opening it a little ballet rat opened it for me. "I need to see Sorelli," I stated, frowning down at the little girl.

"Of course you need to see Sorelli," she repeated, her eyes cross in her shallow face, "Why else would you be here?" She asked impatiently, not opening the door anymore than a mere crack.

"Can I speak to her?" I asked, my patience growing thin.

"She's busy," the girl said and with that the door slammed shut on my face.

I stood there for a moment, looking at the shut door with pure rage, my arms shaking beside me. I absolutely loathed those little ballet rats, the ones who were all too caught up in their own ego that they hardly cared about anyone else! I decided that if Sorelli missed her cue, I would blame it simply on the fact that one of the girls shut the door on my face, so I could not relay my message.

Still fuming, I walked down the corridor, my hands clamped tightly against my sides, my feet heavy with anger. I fumed like this for several hallways, not caring about where I was going when I suddenly stopped, unaware of my position.

I had come into a rather dark hallway, the only source of light coming from a small oil lantern that I had been holding. I looked around, now upset with myself for behaving in such a childish manner.

"Lost, are we, Mademoiselle Cara?" A voice said from the shadows.

I whirled around, finding myself looking at the side profile of a man, leaning against the wall. He must have been tall, as even in his slouching position he was at least a head tall of me. The side of the face facing me was handsome, with a highly boned, clean-shaven face. His lips were curved into a sensual smirk that lit up the fine blue color of his eyes, that I now noticed were speckled with droplets of gold.

I was too surprised to speak, my mouth hung slightly open and I imagined that my eyes must have been bulging from my head in surprise. In response to my silence he stood up to his full height, which must have been at least two heads taller than me. His eyes were glowing a strange color in the lamp light, making him seem angelic, yet at the same time demonic.

I now noticed that the right half of his face was covered in a cold, white mask. It was a stark contrast to the other half of his face, which was shaped perfectly. It loomed over me, like the devil would over his fresh new soul.

I felt myself quivering in fear as one leather clad hand reached out to grasp my own. His touch sent heat radiating through my cold body, and I once again shivered with delight at the softness of his large hand in mine own small one. I looked up at his face, seeing the mask and the unmasked side of his face, trying to find any sign of emotions. Though his face was set into an unreadable expression; cold and thoughtless like a murderer.

He began to walk away from, his hand still grasped in my own, like he was expecting me to follow him. I stood rooted to the spot, refusing to move. He turned around the unmasked side of his face changing into a sensual smirk as he said:

"Do not be afraid, mademoiselle Cara,"

I gasped, the sound, it seemed, echoed throughout the hallway. I recognized that voice, the rich, velvet sound! How could I have ever forgotten it! Then that suit – it looked to be the exact one that I picked out for…

This man standing in front of me was the Phantom of the Opera!

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**Do you think that I captured the Phantom well? Please tell me in a review! Constructive critiscm is welcome! **

**More reviews more chapters! **


	7. The Phantom of the Opera is Here, Inside...

**A/N: **

**Wow! I'm glad that you all really liked the way I did Erik! I was so nervous that everyone would read him and go, "This is horrible! This isn't Erik at all!" Though I'm glad that you liked him…I'm trying my best to capture Gerard's version of the Phantom – because the Broadway Phantom just can't make you cry! Well, Hugh Panaro made my eyes water, but that doesn't count…but not bawl my eyes out like Gerard did at the end of Phantom!**

**There was much debate over this chapter – Do I let the Phantom bring her to his home? Or do I just make them part? Either way, I hope you like what I did!**

**Alright, enough of my rambling for one Author's Note!**

**Then 22 whole reviews! THANK YOU SO MUCH! This has got to be the most reviews I've ever received from a story! So I dedicate this chapter to the kind words of my reviewers – you guys make me keep writing! **

**Many thanks to Arco (I can't spell the longer version of Cyber-Eyes' new penname!)! **

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**Chapter 6**

**The Phantom of the Opera is Here…Inside my Mind**

The Phantom must have heard my gasp, for he turned around and I found those piercing eyes landing on me. I was in too much shock, the man standing before me was the Phantom, and there was no doubt in my mind now! This was the same man that had terrorized Christine Daae; this was the same man who had murdered countless people, sent a chandelier falling down over the crowd of a packed opera!

I stood dead in my tracks; my feet neither letting me run away or follow him. I just simply stood there, in shock. I didn't know what to do now…I didn't know what to do.

He looked at me with mild interest; I could see it in the expression on his face. He regarded me with that same look for a few moments before saying, "Do not be afraid Mademoiselle," His voice was soft, yet at the same time giving at order that was not to be disobeyed.

I nodded once, swallowing the lump in my throat, as he took my hand again, his strong fingers grasping my own weak ones. He reached around and took the oil lamp from my hand and held it in front of us, spreading light throughout the dark passageway and it was then that I realized I had no clue where he was leading me to!

The thought echoed throughout my mind, bouncing off every possible cavern in there. I stopped suddenly, jarring him, as I looked around, my mind reeling with the possibilities of what this murderer might do to me.

"What do you want with me?" I breathed, my voice coming out not as strong as I would have liked it to.

He stopped and turned back around to look at me, the lamplight making him seem demonic again. I stepped backwards, as he took another step towards me, his hand outstretched. His hand moved towards my face for a few moments, before he immediately snapped it away.

"You see, after the events of the opera, the managers neither knew if I were dead or alive, so it was nearly impossible for me to leave my cellars to retrieve the basic necessities of life," he explained, "When you came along, my dear, it seemed to me that if you were helping everyone else out in my theatre, you should also be helping me out," he said, irritated.

"I do not wish to help a murder," I said shortly, turning my back to him, my arms crossed stubbornly.

"Ah, of course," he breathed, his thick voice consuming me, "It seems that you have already heard of my little reputation," his hand landed on my back. "I assure you that what those ballet rats tell you could not be shorter of the truth," his hand slid down my arm, drawing me closer to him.

I went into him; suddenly feeling lost in the intoxication of having such a powerful man hold me. I suddenly felt safe from the world; no one could now harm me! I felt him lower his head against my neck, his dark hair tickling my face, as I leaned against him.

I felt as if I was drowning in his power, as he lowered his lips against the back of my neck, while his hands made his way down my thighs. I breathed in relief, as I felt his gentle touch. I slouched into his arms, feeling weightless as he scooped me into his muscle toned arms and carried me down the hall, through the darkness.

In all too short of a time, he had returned me to my room, though I was still in a blissful daze as he placed me carefully on the bed. I longed for him to lie next to me, to have our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. I longed for him to hold me like a man would hold his wife or lover.

Though as he backed away from me, the warm touch of his hands leaving my body, I began to feel the coldness of reality slip back in. I watched him cast a fleeting glance over my shoulder, before touching a secret panel on the side of the mirror, which opened with a slight sliding sound.

As he stepped inside, I felt reality began to consume me again. I watched as he turned around and said in that rich, silky voice of his, "Perhaps you can learn to trust me, Carolina." Then with that he disappeared behind the mirror, out of my sight, back to his lair somewhere beneath the opera house.

As the mirror slid shut behind him, I was rewarded with the harsh caress of humanity and anger flared up inside me. How dare him! How dare that man touch me in such a way! Then, how dare I? How dare I allow that man to use me, touch me in places that I generally allowed no man to touch?

He had used me, in those brief moments, for his own pleasures! I was his _puppet,_ his willing slave, now forced to do whatever he asked me to do! I could never get away from him now…he knew where my room was, _in fact_ he had a secret door so that he could enter and exit my room whenever _he _pleased!

I angrily crossed over to my bed, and slammed my first, hard, down into the pillow pretending that it was his smirking face. I let out a yell of anger, before collapsing on the bed in mental and physical exhaustion.

I couldn't believe myself, me, who hardly allowed a man to be in the same room with me just allowed a man to touch her in unthinkable ways! Then I couldn't believe him, this man who I hardly knew, in fact, didn't even know, played with me like that! He used me to do his errands, because he was too lazy to do them himself! He certainly had enough secret passageways in this opera house that he could sneak into the costume room to get his own clothes! But did he do that? No!

I blinked back tears of anger as I lay on the bed, silently shaking with an unstoppable rage. I turned over, wiping a weak hand to brush away the tears that I didn't want to shed. Though eventually my dam broke and I cried for everything.

I cried for my family, dead, gone, deceased, now rotting away in a grave at the cemetery at Perros. I cried for my brother, who had run away in the night, taking the family's fortune with him. I cried for myself, not begin able to continue living a normal life. I cried as I remembered all of those nights I had spent in different men's beds.

I cried as I remembered the snap of my wrist, as the man grasped it. His dark, beady eyes filled with anger and contempt. I cried for all the people here at the Opera who had taken me in, given me food, shelter, and I place to start over. They didn't have any idea of who I was! They didn't have any idea that I was aiding the Phantom of the Opera – a man with a bounty larger than my family's fortune on his head!

I don't know how long I lay there, weeping like a small child who had been punished. I didn't know what the time was – I didn't know if it was night or day! I had lost all track of what was going on as I was so caught up in my own misery.

Eventually, I rolled over, my eyes catching my reflection in the mirror. I looked like the devil himself had slept with me. My eyes had large black circles around them, making my thin face looking even thinner. My eyes were also swollen and red from all of the tears I had shed. My cheeks were blotchy, the stark redness from my crying standing out against the normally pale shade of my face. I looked like an ailing person on death's doorstep.

Unable to look at myself, I collapsed back onto the pillow, welcoming its warm feeling that encircled me. I snuffed out the candle on my bedside table, for once welcoming the darkness that consumed me.

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**I promise there won't be any emotional breakdowns in the next chapter!**


	8. A Talent Not Often Used

**A/N: Yes, I am still alive! I'm so sorry for the recent lack of updates – but I have had an absolute horrible time with this writer's block. You see, I know what I want to do with the story and where it's going to lead – but I just don't know how to get there! And I guess I pretty much worked myself into a hole with that last chapter! **

**Though I've also been swamped with school work (AP exams) and then some other activities that I do outside of school – so it's just been hard for me to actually sit down at the computer and type away! Though luckily I own the sacred DVD and I've had a good dose of some really good Phantom phiction! **

**Once again, my praise goes out to my loyal reviewers – if it wasn't for you guys I most likely never would have continued working on this story!**

**Alright – story time!**

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**Chapter 7**

**A Talent Not Often Used**

I awoke the next morning, feeling as if a carriage had plowed me into a cobblestone street. I tried valiantly to open my eyes – yet only found that they were near plastered together with sleep. I groaned, one hand fishing for a match, while I attempted to raise myself from my slumber.

My brain seemed to ache as I pulled, with much effort, myself into a sitting position. My hand had found the match and a bright flame leaped into the oil lamp beside my bed. I guessed that it was nearing midday – though I could never be too certain – as my room remained windowless.

I slowly placed my bare feet on the hardwood floor in my room, and stood up, my reflection casting into the mirror. For one sick moment I felt as if someone was staring at me from behind the confines of the mirror – and I prayed that _he_ wasn't there. Since his near rape of me last night I wanted nothing more to do with this man. This man whose touch radiated warmth, yet felt like ice against my skin.

I had just pulled my robe over my sleeping garments, when suddenly there came a rap at my door. "Carolina, are you awake?" I immediately recognized the voice to belong to Madame Giry.

"Madame," I said through the closed door, "I have only just awoken," I carefully undid the key that kept the door locked and opened it a sliver.

I found myself confronted with Madame Giry's relentless blue eyes. The woman was the exact image of pride, her well boned face, lined with years of thought and discipline gave way to a noble brow. Her hair, long, and the color of moaghony streaked with grey were pulled back into its normal long braid that cascaded down her back. She was wearing a black dress – normal for her – but never before had I seen a woman who could wear the dark color as well as her. It seemed to match her personality, the strong, nearly masculine color and look.

Her eyes scrutinized me for a moment to see if I were really telling the truth, though eventually she seemed to accept my story and nodded. "Sorry, my dear, it is just that it is nearly one in the afternoon – and there is much to be done, rehearsals are beginning for the new performance of Carmen," she said.

My mind flew – it was one in the afternoon? This was a disgrace on my part, not to mention that it was downright embarrassing! What would the manager's think of me? I turned away from the door, apologizing to Madame Giry. "I'm so sorry; I was up late last night…" I stammered, as I threw out some clothes that I could quickly change into.

"No, no, dear, there's no need to rush," Madame exclaimed, entering the room and putting a steadying hand on my shoulder. "It does seem as if you were busy…might I ask what you were doing…?" she questioned.

I didn't turn around; knowing that if she saw the guilt in my eyes she would immediately know I was lying. "I was drawing," I lied, pointing at my bedside table which was littered with old sketches I had done. I had never been one for drawing – but I found that I could draw landscapes and animals, just nothing that was human. I could never draw humans.

"Drawing?" Madame Giry questioned, picking up a drawing that had been discarded. "You are quite talented," she said, her keen eyes scanning the paper. I looked up, trying to see which of my few miserable portraits she was looking at. She was looking at the one that I liked the call the 'Valley of Dreams'. It was an old portrait, one that I had scribbled down uselessly one day waiting for something to happen at rehearsals.

"It is nothing, Madame," I said sheepishly, averting my gaze downwards to the wooden floor.

Madame Giry carefully set the drawing back on the table, before turning to me, "What other secret talents do you have, Carolina?" she asked, one of her finely penciled eyebrows rising.

"None," I admitted, though from the tone of my voice I could tell that Madame Giry knew better than to question who I was any farther.

"That's interesting," she said simply, turning around and heading towards the door.

"Madame," I said, catching her as her hand was turning the brass knob, "Would it be possible for you to pick me up some food…?"

Madame Giry turned around and pointed towards the stuffed chair by the mirror. "It seems that someone was already thing ahead of me," she said, before turning around and leaving, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft click.

I found my eyes transfixed on what was in my chair: a single woven reed basket, filled to the top with jam and rolls. I walked over, my hand gently caressing the soft fabric linen stuffed in it, when my eyes fell upon a note stuffed into the basket among the food.

My heart fell when I immediately recognized the sprawling red pen and handwriting – I thought I might be sick – this food, this basket – was from him! With shaking hands I detached the seal, the all too familiar wax seal. It was the skull that was forever etched into my mind, the red wax skull with his luring grin that seemed to tease you.

I took the note out, my eyes grazing over the handwriting the note read:

_I couldn't allow my best errand runner go about her day without any nutrients, now can I?_

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	9. Just a Job

**A/N: Thanks, as always, to my very loyal reviewers! I do not know if I could continue this story without you! I'm trying my hardest to make my chapters longer, so do not get discouraged!**

**Alright, I'm making an amendment to the summary. In the beginning I originally planned for Carolina to become the Opera Populaire's set designer. Yet, with the hole I've worked myself into with this chapter; she is going to become a singer. I was originally against this plan because it would be so unoriginal, I girl comes to the Opera and she becomes the lead singer! Though, I figured that if I made her become a singer it would lead to a much more interesting story!**

**I'm sorry if this change annoys anyone!**

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**Chapter 8**

**Just a Job**

The afternoon of the same day found me up on the grand stage of the Opera. This was the first rehearsal for the Opera Populaire's newest musical, Carmen. I stood off to one side, leaning against the proscenium, watching as the manager's addressed the entire company.

"The opening night will be June 18th, we will be holding a Gala at this time," Firmin explained to the cast. "Hopefully, this season at the Opera Populaire will not be…disrupted," he added darkly, casting a glance up at the silent rafters of the theatre.

The cast nodded, and slowly broke into various different groups. The low sound of chatter broke out backstage as the actors discussed their parts and the costume makers began brainstorming about the types of costumes they would make.

I sighed and turned around, resting the top of my head against the wood. No one bothered to speak to me at the Opera, in fact, most of them avoided my presence. I didn't think that there was anything in particular that made me unfriendly looking, but people naturally avoided me for some reason.

Though, just as quickly as the serene peace had come it was broken again, this time by Carlotta, the Opera's diva, stormed on stage. She looked, at least to me, like an oversized toad. Her strawberry red hair flew in eighty different directions down her back. She was wearing a large lip color pink dress that looked like it had just been taken off of the shelf. She might have been considered pretty by most standards, if her toad-like face hadn't been compressed into a sneer. One arm held the complete script for the play, and that arm was waving in the air.

I bit my tongue to suppress a look at the extremely flustered look on her face.

The managers, spotting their diva, ran over, their faces forcing, what they thought was a cheerful looking smile. "The diva has arrived!" Andre yelled, as the pair scampered over to her.

"Si, si," Carlotta said, her heavily accented voice echoed throughout the large theatre. "I have come to tell you that I vill not be sing-ing in this!" She spat, tossing the book on the stage.

"By, Madame, why? We cast you as Carmen, the leading role!" Firmin said in a vain attempt to regain the diva's attention.

"Si, si, but mon no, because I cannot a sing-a this-a part-a! It goes too low," Carlotta fumed, raising her hand in the air for added drama.

"Our diva…" Andre wailed.

"Si, si, si," Carlotta spat.

"Your public needs you!" Firmin added.

"They can 'ave your precious little…Christine Daae!" Carlotta yelled, turning around and spitting in the manager's face. "Orlando, _allons-y, _bring my doggie! Get my doggie! Bye, bye! You see, I'm really leaving now!"

With that, the diva stormed down the stage, her personal assistants and maids fumbling to catch up with her. I watched, with a suppressed smile as she threw open the doors that lead into the theatre and then slammed them behind her. As the door slammed, the noise in the theatre died down to mere silence.

"We have lost our star, Andre!" Firmin wailed, as he collapsed onto the stairs leading up to the stage. "What are we to do now?" He cried, throwing his face into his hands.

"Won't she come back?" I asked timidly.

Firmin turned around, "Maybe! Maybe not! I do not know!" He yelled, as I flinched at the harsh tone of his voice.

"Who will fill in for her…?" Andre questioned glumly.

"We could try and convince Christine," Madame Giry said, appearing from around the curtain.

"Daae?" Andre questioned. "She would never come back here if her life depended on it!" He declared. "We have no one!"

"I could sing for you, Monsieur," I said quietly. I had been gathering up all of my courage to say this. Singing had been a talent that I had been gifted with from a young age, back when my parents were alive they had given my regular voice lessons. My instructor had been a kind old man, who had taught me everything. I had been a pure soprano back then, now I did not know. I didn't even know if I could sing.

The look on the manager's and Madame Giry's face was enough to blow me over. The trio looked so surprised that I had to emit a small giggle of laughter. "YOU can sing?" Andre questioned. "Why didn't you tell us that before?"

"I sung when I was with my family, they gave me regular voice lessons as a girl," I said softly. "I haven't taken them in nearly a year though," I said.

"You don't have the voice for an Opera Diva, Mademoiselle," Firmin stated shortly. "Now…who else could we cast?" He said, making it clear that the possibility of me singing was zero to none.

"Please, Monsieur, let me sing for you!" I begged nervously.

Firmin turned around and studied me intently. "Perhaps if we fattened you up you could make a good Opera figure. Sing for us, then Mademoiselle," he said shortly.

I nodded once weakly, my stomach fluttering as I moved to the center of the stage. The trio stood up and surveyed my with a critical eye, I looked at our Maestro who nodded once; he struck up a tune, one from Carmen. I held in my hands, Carlotta's discarded script and sung the words:

"_The bird you caught by surprise  
Beats its wing, and off it flies.  
Love ignores you, you wait and mope,  
Then there it is-when you give up hope.  
Love's all around you. Quick, quick!  
You have no man, or you have your pick.  
Think you've found love?  
It turns you down cold.  
Think you've escaped it?  
It has you in its hold. _

L'oiseau que tu croyais surprendre  
Battit de l'aile et s'envola-  
L'amour est loin, tu peux l'attendre;  
Tu ne l'attends plus- il est la.  
Tout autour de toi, vite, vite,  
Il vient, s'en va, puis il revient-  
Tu crois le tenir, il t'evite,  
Tu veux l'eviter; il te tient "

I waited until the music was finished before I looked up hesitantly at the Maestro. He was giving me a most peculiar look and I frowned, feeling my heart drop. I had been horrible; my voice was still much untrained. Though just as I thought this I became aware that there was more clapping, and I turned around to see that most of the people at the Opera had gathered.

"Brava! Brava!" Andre yelled, coming over to me and clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Stupenda!" He yelled, a smile evident on his face

."That was wonderful, mademoiselle!" Firmin said approvingly.

"I think we found our new Carmen!" Andre said excitedly to Firmin.

I stood there, a wide grin evident on my face as everyone flocked around me, exclamations of, "You can sing?" "You have the voice of a diva!" "Carlotta is surely out of business now!" flew around me. I felt like I was floating in a dream, as I could not believe that this was happening at all! I felt so strange, for now I had suddenly became the center of attention of everyone!

"Where did you learn to sing so fluently in Spanish? With your pronunciation, I would almost have to think that perhaps you are from Spain!" Firmin exclaimed.

"I grew up in Spain, Monsieur," I said quietly.

"Really? And, where in the world did you learn to sing like that? If I'm not mistaken you honestly have the voice of an angel! I'd say that you just out sang Christine Daae!" Andre said with a smile broad on his face.

I stuttered for a moment in my reply, not only had the question about my music teacher caught me off guard but the sudden comparison to Christine Daae! I had heard the stories, the rumors, about her incredible voice. I knew her teacher, I knew about her sudden rise to fame. Though what troubled me the most was the comment about me having the voice of an angel! Me! The whore who lived on the streets for half of her life, suddenly having the voice of an angel!

I suddenly felt weak in the legs, and crumbled to a sad mess of skirts and slips on the stage. The manager's were beside me in an instant, making sure that their precious new diva wasn't going to die on them. They swarmed on me, asking me questions, making sure that I was healthy.

"Monsieurs, please, allow the girl some room!" I recognized that voice to belong only to Madame Giry.

The manger's immediately back away from me, apologizing rapidly. Madame Giry meanwhile helped me to my feet. I stood up unsteadily, my mind still in a fog from the events that had taken place in the past twenty minutes. I vaguely heard Madame Giry tell the mangers that I had had a long, trying day and that I needed rest.

Madame Giry then led me off of the stage; all the while the members of the cast clapped me on the back and smiled broadly at me as I walked past. I smiled, suddenly feeling for the first time in my life like a Prima Donna. I guessed that this was how Carlotta felt everyday!

Pausing outside of my room, Madame Giry handed me my script and bade me good night. "Thank you for everything Madame," I said, smiling in the dim light of the candle that she had been holding.

"I'm always more than happy to help you whenever you need it, Carolina! Never hesitate to ask!" She said, putting an assuring hand on my arm.

"Good night," I said, turning the lock on my door and carefully pushing it open.

"Good night, Carolina, and congratulations!" She said, before turning away and disappearing down the dark hall.

I smiled and sighed once before turning around already beginning to unbutton my shirt. It was then that I felt a presence behind me and I heard the rich voice say, "Where in the world did you learn to sing like _that_?"

* * *

**More Erik in the next chapter (I promise!)**

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